


you got to strike when the moment is right - stop thinking

by Honey_Honey, macherrycherie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: I DO NOT SUPPORT/CONDONE RAPE INCEST OR PEDOPHILIA, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, hi yes i'm here to make you cry!, not only that, once again please be careful when reading this, please heed the warnings!, ptsd mention!, so if you haven't already figured it out this is a depressing fic, someone will die!, thank you!!, thaurens? endgame? never heard of her, the underage/rape&noncon warnings are due to flashbacks of a child being molested/raped, there is also alcohol and substance abuse!, this fic involves physical AND verbal abuse from parents!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 20:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15227607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honey_Honey/pseuds/Honey_Honey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/macherrycherie/pseuds/macherrycherie
Summary: !!! PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS/TAGS !!!Marriage is supposed to be something magical, binding you to the person you want to spend all of your life with. Most of those who choose to go through with it spend their years with each other in marital bliss. They wake up every day next to someone who sees the best and the worst in them, sees their strengths and weaknesses, and loves them for it. The universe seems to have a different plan for John and Thomas.AKA the fic where they're supposed to get married and nothing ever works out.





	1. you took it from me, i'll never get it back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Honey_Honey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honey_Honey/gifts).



> ONCE AGAIN please please please READ THE WARNINGS/TAGS!!! this is NOT a happy fic and involves LOTS of painful things!! IF you could be triggered by anything in the tags, please turn away now!!! thank you and have a lovely day!!!!!

««« = beginning of flashback  
»»» = end of flashback

Breathe.

_In for four._

One. Two. Three. Four.

_Hold for six._

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Footsteps. _Breathe out for eight._

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Don't gasp for air. The footsteps get louder. In for four.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The sound of his own name shook Thomas from his breathing techniques, forcing him back to the ragged, erratic pattern he was using previously.

His father had always been one for big entrances (although this time, he seemed to be sober, Thomas noted).

"Thomas, where have you been?" Peter Jefferson had never been able to change his tone when speaking to his son; always loud, commanding, and authoritative. Almost as if he were speaking to a child rather than his twenty-five-year-old son.

Thomas was sure his father preferred the latter.

"I was just sittin' in the library, then I came out here, and was waitin' for y'all," he explained, gesturing to not only his father but his mother and sister as well.

Jane, who he might've missed had she not been so horribly dressed up, said primly, "We were sure we told you to meet us in the kitchen instead." She was a rather plain person aside from the insane perceptiveness that she only used to criticize people.

"No, you said t' meet you in the main hallway."

"It's really not a big deal," interjected Martha, Thomas's sister (and perhaps the only person on the planet he could tolerate aside from James). "The only person it could inconvenience would be J- I mean, the suitor. In that case, who cares?"

"Don't tell me you've already met 'im," Thomas groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. He sighed. "Y'all're th' worst."

"It's not that bad. He's really nice."

"Marty, I don't care that he's nice-"

"Thomas. Martha." Their father's stern voice cut in between theirs instantly.

Cue a "Sorry, Dad," from Martha, accompanied by a shit-eating grin, and a "Sorry, Sir," from Thomas, who glared daggers at his sister as soon as he got the chance.

"Well!" Jane clapped her hands together with a satisfied smile. "Off to the den, then. He's waitin' in there."

Thomas scowled at his parents, and then his sister, who stood back to walk with him as Jane and Peter went ahead. Her trademark grin was almost infectious, and he couldn't help but laugh as they walked to the living room.

"This is it, y'know," Marty reminded. "All the time we have left together, Tommy. This. Is. It."

"You lecturin' me now?" Thomas laughed again, nudged his sister in her side and gave her a little push. "Turnin' into Mom."

"I am not turning into Jane!" Marty gave him an offended look, hand clutching her chest in mock offense.

"You so are."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Tommy." Her tone turned serious. She fixed her brother with one of her signature intense looks, one of the ones that meant she had something important she needed to say. "Listen to me."

"Okay. I'm listenin'."

"Jane and Peter - you know they're marrying you off. You know they don't like you being gay and all."

"Jesus, Marty, is that what-"

"Shut up, Thomas."

Thomas's mouth snapped closed with no further protests. Marty had used his full name - that was important. No interrupting was what that meant.

She nodded seriously and continued. "They're super glad they got some other 'queer'" -here she used quotation marks with a roll of her eyes- "to marry you off so they don't have to taint the Jefferson name with a gay son." A deep breath. "But that means I won't be allowed to talk to you."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. Marty had never been one for following their parents' rules (and yet was still the favorite of all six kids). He had no doubt that she would find some sort of loophole.

"But, as you've already guessed," Marty continued, "I'm not sticking up with that bullshit." She smirked. "You'll get a text from a new number in two days. It'll obviously be me."

Thomas nodded but didn't get too far into speaking due to his sister catching him in a crushing hug. "Marty," he gasped. "Air. My god."

"Sorry," Marty chuckled, pulling away. "Let's go. Your Romeo awaits."

"Hey. I'm Romeo."

"Oh, right, right, sorry, forgot about that unhealthy masculinity Peter instilled in you."

"Shut up."

"Okay, okay!" Marty laughed. "I'll be quiet."

"...For now," they both said in unison, dissolving into a fit of laughter.

Once again, Peter's voice interrupted the happy siblings. "Thomas! Martha! We're not gettin' any younger!"

Thomas sighed, grinning at his sister. She gestured for him to walk into the room. Knowing she would follow, Thomas opened the door, walking through the large hallway into the living room.

The living room was much larger than it should have been, built to accommodate more than just the seven who occupied it.

Speaking of the occupants, there were Thomas's parent's, Marty, Thomas, and three people he didn't recognize who he could only assume were his betrothed and his betrothed's parents.

Peter cleared his throat. "Good. You're here. We can begin."

An older man stepped toward Thomas with his hand outstretched. The look in his eyes as Thomas shook his hand was strangely familiar.

«««

_"Daddy's drunk," a young boy whispered._

_The young girl next to him - clearly much, much younger - nodded, her eyes wide. She kept her mouth clamped shut for fear of making any noise._

_"Where'd you go, you little brats?" A voice roared in the background._

_Something clattered to the floor._

_Thomas clamped his hand over Marty's mouth, shaking. Don't breathe, he mouthed._

_She nodded._

_Footsteps approached the closet._

_Don't breathe._

_In for four. Hold for six. Out for eight._

_The closet door opened._

_Marty bit down on Thomas's hand._

_He screamed._

»»»

"Henry Laurens," the man introduced. Thomas blinked a few times to shake the memory away, then nodded solemnly.

"Thomas Jefferson. It's a pleasure."

"Please, no need to lie, my boy. I'm much less delighted to meet you than you are to me."

Just like Peter, except without the strong accent.

Smoother. More charming.

Class A for Asshole.

Thomas nodded and let go of his hand, looking to the woman standing next to Henry.

"Good evening," she murmured. Her smile reminded Thomas of someone's from his childhood - level-headed and calm, relaxed, sure of herself, but also happy and excited.

«««

_"Don't be silly! Dogs say bark, not moo."_

_"But Dolley-"_

_"The book says so, Thomas!"_

_Young Thomas frowned at Dolley but said nothing in protest as she walked away, smiling and laughing with someone else - Martha, Thomas thought. Same name as his little sister, except this Martha was cold and mean._

_"It's okay, Thomas. Dolley is really nice when you get to know her."_

»»»

"Thomas Jefferson," Thomas stated mundanely, taking the woman's hand in his and kissing the back of it lightly.

"Eleanor Laurens," she murmured in response, smiling that same smile at him.

There. Two down, one to go, the last being what Thomas suspected the worst of all.

He turned to grimace at the other man and almost couldn't bring himself to do it.

This man was beautiful. If he was the sun, Thomas would burn in his light. His heart beat quickly and he could feel his hands begin to tap nervously at his side. The person in front of him was so unlike anyone Thomas had ever met in Virginia that he might've fainted, had that instinct not been erased from his brain at the age of five.

Thomas fucking hated him.

From behind him, he heard the voice of his sister.

"He froze."

A sharp hiss from his mother sounded. He snapped out of whatever trance the man had put him in.

"Thomas Jefferson."

Another comment from Marty. "At least he didn't choke this time."

"Be quiet," Jane snapped.

The other man frowned, stuck his hand out for Thomas to shake. "John Laurens."

Thomas seemed to be unable to fix his face. When he tried, the grimace that he wore only turned to a scowl. John reciprocated the irritation Thomas already showed.

"Nice to-"

"Save it," Thomas snapped, pulling his hand away from his fiance.

John was just the slightest bit irritated. "Well, excuse me for trying to be polite."

"Forcin' us to be married is hardly the definition of 'polite'."

"If you think I want this to happen, you're insane!"

"Great, all the more reason for us to not be married!"

"I already said I don't want this!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Ex-fucking-scuse me?"

Marty's voice could be faintly heard over their bickering.

"This is going to be fun."


	2. who said i wasn't allowed to have a childhood, who took that from me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter where things get depressing and where THE WARNINGS APPLY.
> 
> PLEASE BE CAREFUL.

«««

_The burn of the cigarette on his bare stomach and legs brought him away from his dreams and into reality, wrenching a scream from his throat as he scrambled to get away, just now realizing that she had tied his hands to the metal bars of the bedframe using ripped pieces of old cloth._

_"Please, stop it, please, I didn't do nothin'!" He yelled, pulling at the restraints. "Mama, stop, please, please!"_

_"Does it hurt?" The woman hissed from somewhere he couldn't see. "Tell me. Does it hurt?"_

_Something was over his eyes, he couldn't see, where was she, why couldn't he see?_

_"Answer the question!" screamed the woman, pressing another lit cigarette to his stomach._

_Another "Please!" ripped out of his throat before it subsided to a whimper. "It hurts, it burns, make it stop, Mama, please, please."_

_Silence._

_The cigarette was removed from his stomach, and replaced with a cold hand, rubbing up and down, up and down, too cold in comparison to the heat that had been there only a few minutes prior._

_"So sweet," cooed the disembodied voice of the woman. "So good for me. My little Tommy."_

_Thomas whimpered._

_Another cigarette was pressed to his stomach._

_He cried._

»»»

Thomas jolted upright in bed, breathing heavily. Sweat pooled underneath him into multiple different wet spots. His hands shook as they gripped the bedsheets.

Just a dream, he told himself.

No, not a dream. A memory.

Well, fuck. Push it away and be done with it.

He shoved the covers off of his legs, now realizing he was too hot for them.

_Breathe. Regulate yourself, Thomas._

_Be a man._

In for four. Hold for six. Out for eight.

_Simple._

_You can follow simple instructions, can't you?_

Thomas shook his head, swung his legs over the side of the bed so he was now sitting. Put his head in his hands and focused on his breathing.

In for four. Hold for six. Out for eight.

He stood up once he was breathing normally and walked to the bathroom slowly. Splashed water on his face. Couldn't bring himself to look in the mirror.

Forget, forget, forget.

As soon as he felt he'd scrubbed himself clean of the memory, he got dressed, pants then shirt then shoes then tie, all routine, something he could find comfort in.

Downstairs, the lights were off, the entire floor silent. He checked the clock - 3:24 AM. Up too early again.

_You can never be too early_ , his internal Jane chided. _Early is on time._

He made himself some pancakes. Sat down at the counter. Tried to eat without feeling like he was going to throw up.

Remembered the other day, John, all pretty and perfect and everything Peter and Jane - everything he - had ever wanted.

Felt the resentment bubble up in his stomach, strong, searing. Wanted to hit something - anything - but pulled himself away from that edge, the sharpness that he knew he could cut himself on. Told himself no for the fiftieth time and instead went for a walk in the garden.

If the garden was supposed to help, it didn't. It only made everything worse. Every little flower, every pretty leaf on every bush, reminded him of John, of the perfect child, of something that made him so irrationally angry all he could do was sit down and clutch the edge of the concrete bench so hard he feared he might break his own fingers from the sheer force.

He stayed outside for a long time. The thought of going back inside made him begin to shake again.

It was a while before someone came outside, before the sun was fully up but just after it had begun to rise.

They sat next to him quietly.

"Martha said you get really bad nightmares," they said.

Thomas said nothing. He closed his eyes and wished to stop existing.

The voice carried on. "She said they make you wake up at ungodly hours of the morning. You can't get back to sleep, so you just start your day then. PTSD, I think was what it was."

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut.

"I understand what you feel," said the voice.

"Shut the fuck up," replied Thomas. "It's none of your business."

The voice went silent. Thomas was thankful. He opened his eyes to see John sitting next to him, silent and pensive with his lips pressed tightly in a line and his hands clasped together.

Just what they would have wanted, Thomas thought.

He banished it from his mind.

John raised an eyebrow at Thomas.

Thomas stood and exited the garden, entering the kitchen instead.

«««

_I can't see I can't see I can't see I can't see-_

_Screams, screams so loud Thomas couldn't hear anything else. They echoed through the entire house and right into his eardrums, making him squrim._

_His arms were tied to the arms of a wooden chair._

_I can't see I can't see-_

_Footsteps, coming closer._

_A bag, a bag over my face, Marty, where are you?_

_More screaming from somewhere else, much closer this time._

_"No, no, not Thomas, stop it, Dad, no, he's too little, Dad!"_

_Mary, Mary, it's okay, I'm here, Mary-_

_"Thomas." A hushed whisper from his left._

_The footsteps were only rooms away._

_He couldn't bring himself to open his mouth._

_"Tommy." The voice was hoarse, tired, shaky. "It's Martha."_

_Martha? Martha what's happening what's-_

_"He's gonna come for you next, Tommy, be careful, be stro-" Martha cut herself off with what Thomas guessed were her own screams. "No, no, no! No! Please, no, I can't, please don't-"_

_He shook a little harder. Tears began to soak through the cloth bag on his head. The chair began to rattle against the hardwood flooring._

_Silence, all throughout the house._

_"You've been a bad boy, Thomas."_

_The bag was pulled off of his head._

»»»

Thomas left for work without saying goodbye to John.

Quite frankly, he was pretty sure John was happier that way, which didn't help much.

He was so perfect, so picturesque. It made Thomas want to throw up every time he looked at him. Just the sight of John made Thomas tremble a little, made him remember things he didn't want to, repressed memories that were bad, bad, bad.

He went to work, parked his 1969 Hot Rod Red Corvette in the usual spot, and began the day as usual.

«««

_Cold water all around him._

_He couldn't breathe, this time._

_Jane's final attempt._

_He supposed it was for the best. After all, he'd stopped trying to prevent it. Maybe he was just one of those people, you know?_

_If that was the case, then so be it._

_Why prevent something that was meant to be?_

_The lack of air began to hurt._

_The cold began to bite._

_He was pulled out of the water._

_His mother's lack of remorse was almost comical._

»»»

Someone was tapping on their desk, light enough for it to be dismissed as just the building if you didn't pay much attention to it.

•••/---/•••

A pattern, Thomas realized. Dit-dit-dit, dah, dah, dah, dit-dit-dit. Morse code. For that, he could thank his father.

•••/---/•••  
S O S

SOS. Save our ship. As far as Thomas knew, there was only one other person in the office who knew Morse code, and that was James.

Good ol' James Madison, the only person besides Marty that Thomas could tolerate for longer than thirty minutes.

Silently, Thomas got up from his desk, glad there was something to distract him from the memory of the cold river water rushing up and down, never letting go of him for a moment until strong, angry hands gripped his shoulders and interrupted the freezing feeling to bring him back into the air.

"You got my message," James said, turning his chair to face his old friend.

"Morse code. Very subtle," Thomas commented. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of James' cubicle, glad none of their superiors were around.

James shrugged and grinned. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Indeed. Why did you call me over here, exactly?"

"Oh. Just wanted to get away from work for a second."

Thomas could smell the bullshit from a mile away and let James know via the 'Stop Lying' eyebrow raise he sent his way.

James put his arms up in mock defensiveness, as if he hadn't known that Thomas' bullshit detector was stronger than most. He had a peculiar knack for finding just the right way to get Thomas to ask so James didn't have to. "Don't act like you didn't need the distraction."

"We have very different ideas of what I do and don't need." Thomas rolled his eyes, eyebrow still arched in a sort of 'Back Down, This Isn't Your Territory' kind of way.

"Thomas." The attempt at guilt-tripping was evident in James' voice, but Thomas decidedly ignored it and instead turned away.

"That's nice, James, but no thanks," he huffed, heading back to his desk.

His phone displayed five text messages.

[John Laurens] «10:27 AM  
hey, is this thomas?

Unimportant. He cleared the message.

[Marty Jefferson] «11:30 AM  
where tf are you, mom & dad have been bugging me

[Marty Jefferson] «11:33 AM  
seriously they're irritating asf get home now

[Marty Jefferson] «11:40 AM  
actually no wait a while before coming home, it'll piss them off even more

[Marty Jefferson] «11:43 AM  
REVENGE

Thomas grinned at the texts from his sister, sending back a quick message.

{Thomas Jefferson} »12:23 PM  
lmao alright, sounds like a plan. i'll be home around nine

Naturally, Marty responded almost immediately.

[Marty Jefferson] «12:24 PM  
go to Joe's, they hate that place

{Thomas Jefferson} »12:25 PM  
gotchu. see you later

— Read @ 12:25 PM —

Thomas scoffed at being left on read and turned back to his work. The next five hours he spent working, signing papers and typing away at his computer.

An email to Adams expressing his apologies for not being able to attend his dinner party.

Another email to Hamilton that simply contained instructions on where he needed to go for the next meeting Washington would call.

A couple Skype messages to James, complaining about work.

Another two hours spent creating a deck to send to his team of program managers, accompanied by an ASAP.

By the time Thomas had finished all the things he'd needed to do, it was around five PM.

_Perfect. Only four hours to spend out on the town._

_Oh, god, who fucking says 'out on the town' anymore?_

«««

_Nails on his knees, scratching hard, digging into his skin._

_"Peter, the lobster here is horrific."_

_"Do you really think it's acceptable to call something horrific in public?"_

_Nobody was paying attention, everyone going about their business, not noticing the tears pricking the edge of Thomas' eyes._

_A drop of blood welled on one of the scratches, trickling down his shin. His arms were covered in goosebumps as he felt the cold blood continue to seep out of the scratches and down his leg._

_The nails buried deeper._

_His parents kept talking._

_Thomas bit his lip to keep himself from crying out. He didn't understand what he'd done - he never did - all he knew was that he'd been bad, bad enough to get punished, but then again everything he did was bad, so he was always being punished._

_His mother removed her hand from his leg. The sudden absence of pressure on the wounds only caused them to hurt more, the bleeding rapidly moving from little drops to gushing out of the large cuts._

_A waiter locked eyes with him._

_He cried out in his head, begged them to come closer._

_They looked away._

»»»

Joe's was a rinky-dink diner on the corner of 5th and 27th. It was usually dismissed by tourists and only ever used by the local drug addicts, aside from the occasional not-high customer.

Thomas had been a frequenter of Joe's ever since his family had moved to New York, which was to say that the entire staff knew his name and his favorite order, and almost never forgot to include extra pickles on his chicken club.

Casey, the cashier, smiled at Thomas as he walked in. She'd been working the front for three months now, he remembered. Finally getting the hang of it.

"Evenin', Casey."

"Hey, Thomas. The usual?"

"You betcha."

"Eric said you've been coming here for years," she informed him quietly, giving him an inquisitive look.

"Yeah," Thomas murmured. "Favorite place when I was a kid."

"How long? Like, how many years?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Uh, ten, I think. Since I was fifteen, so, yeah - ten years."

"That's a long time."

"Mhm." He was very quickly losing interest in the conversation. Mention of when he was younger brought back uncomfortable memories that he would rather avoid, so he paid her as fast as possible and took his usual seat in the corner booth.

When Eric brought him his food, he said a simple "Thanks" and went back to staring out the window, watching the passers-by. Joe's was situated on the best part of the street, where it was easiest to see people crossing the roads and talking with others.

It was hours before the little bell that signified someone was entering rung. Footsteps crossed the room; Thomas didn't bother to look up, obviously not worried that whoever it was was going to attempt to talk to him.

A body slid into the wrecked-upholstery seat across from him, making a creaking noise that he assumed was the seat protesting madly. 'Stop, stop,' it groaned. 'I'm too old for this shit.'

"You're difficult to find."

_Damn it. John._

"Are my whereabouts really any of your business?" Thomas asked condescendingly, still not looking at John, just staring out the window as if that dying plant was somehow very interesting.

"Considering that we're going to be married-"

"Who gives an actual fuck about that?" He turned to give John a sardonic look, one eyebrow arched.

"I do."

Thomas snorted at the irony there, the not-quite-foreshadowing. "I don't."

"That makes no sense."

"Fuck you. I don't have to make sense, least of all to you."

"It's probably-"

"Fuck whatever it is you were going to say. This entire situation is so fucked up, John, don't you see? I don't want your money, your promise to love me, least of all you. Stay as far away from me as a 'married couple' could possibly be. Get as far away from this shit," - he gestured to himself, tired and cold and done with absolutely everything in this moment - "as possible, and you just might live your life."

Silence. Thomas returned to looking out the window.

"You're good at that," John muttered, leaning his chin in his hand. "The monologing. Did you write that down and practice it beforehand?"

"Fuck off," Thomas spat. "It's way too late for you to be bringing this shit up now."

"You're a pretentious asshole, you know that?"

"I've been told that my entire life. Get a new goddamn line."

«««

_"Did I fucking stutter?"_

_"No, Daddy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"_

_"I said get the fuck out, bitch!"_

_"I'm going, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, please-"_

_The door slammed, much like his heart in his chest. It thumped and banged and smacked and hit, loud and obnoxious, never letting him forget._

_Fast, fast, fast, go, down the hallway, over the bench, down the stairs, there, the cupboard, open the door, close it, and-_

_Silence._

_The beating of his heart, loud enough to distract him from the noises of his father and the woman he'd brought home, the sound of his mother and her cigarettes, the yelling of his sister, the crying of the other siblings._

_The cupboard door open and shut quickly. Someone else was in there, too._

_He could've sworn his heart stopped entirely for a moment._

_"Tommy?"_

_"Mary?"_

_"Hey, buddy." Sniff. She'd been crying. "You okay?"_

_He gave her a shaky "Yeah."_

_"Okay," she whispered. "Come on._

_Breathe._

_In for four. Hold for six. Out for eight._

_Good job, Tommy._

_Good job."_

»»»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep i know okay i'm mean i'm sorry
> 
> i'm crying too
> 
> tumblr: @ma-cher

**Author's Note:**

> hi yeah i'm so sorry, this will get progressively worse as the fic goes on
> 
> you'll see
> 
> tumblr: @ma-cher


End file.
